


Down This Broken Path I Tread

by emeraldoni



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Divergent Timelines, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1970307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldoni/pseuds/emeraldoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shushiki said: Dead my old fine hopes. And dry my dreaming but still… Iris, blue each spring. (Kagome comes to terms. Sesshomaru makes mistakes. Neither know what they want until it falls in their laps.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down This Broken Path I Tread

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always welcome. Haiku are cited within the story.

_Basho said:_

_First day of spring-_

_I keep thinking about-_

_The end of autumn._

O

 

The bar was dim and dry; spilled alcohol being the most prevalent smell. It wafted throughout the small building oppressively, noticeable like the hottest summer day. Occupants hunched over their tables, the only sound being the melancholy murmur and the occasional drunken shout of anger--quickly subsiding as the bartender refilled drinks leisurely while muttering placatory sentences.

 

Kagome would have hated the place--if she weren’t verging on being completely, sloppy wasted. Like her fellow patrons, she hunched over her Kirin like it was a newborn babe. She cradled it, every few seconds taking a bitter swig.

 

She was not used to drinking. Unlike some girls, she was not the kind of girl to get irresponsibly smashed. A few sips of sake, maybe a light mixed drink or two; that was the extent of her drinking.

 

Of all days, though, this seemed appropriate. She couldn’t commemorate with prayers or paper cranes. There was no festival to remember them by, nor friends to commiserate. The closest people who understood were her family, and they could only offer sympathetic hugs and cheesy motivational lines. They tried, and she loved them still, but that did not mean it helped at all. Memories still clung like wet cotton, and nostalgia rushed through her veins like blood.

 

So, tonight, to help not think, she decided to get gloriously drunk. Luckily, it didn’t take much.

 

Already her vision was blurred, her hearing fuzzy, and her taste buds oddly nonexistent. The bar she had chosen was perfect, in that it was a hole in the wall made for those just as miserable as her. She would not be running into any of her friends out for a night on the town; she would not be attempted wooed by any tipsy young men; she would not be heckled by talkative bartenders.

 

She was alone with her Kirin, thoughts, and unfortunate attempts at forgetting. With each sip the haze grew, and contentment seeped through her bones like the warmth of love. It was hollow and sticky and clingy. She hated it.

 

Tomorrow she would pick up the pieces in her hung-over state. She would smile, remember, and move on. She was not the kind of person to mope for years. She was strong, and she would make her life--despite the curveballs it had thrown her--as good as she could.

 

But not tonight.

 

It took a few seconds for Kagome to notice someone join her table. He was silent, clothed in a fashionable trench coat, and staring intently at her face. Usually one to offer a friendly greeting, Kagome just gazed back. He had ear length, rich black hair and a statuesque face. He was impassive and somber, but for some reason Kagome felt a kinship with him. Probably the alcohol.

 

Finally, he spoke. “You are new here.”

 

Kagome took a clumsy sip of her beer. “Yes.”

 

“This place is not made for young girls.”

 

Kagome took mild, drunk offense. “I am _not_ a young girl. I am twenty!”

 

“A mere child.”

 

Kagome snorted, taking another sip. She vaguely noticed that he also had a drink; a grungy glass with a bubbling, dark amber liquid inside. She watched intensely as he took a well-mannered sip, eyes on her face the entire time.

 

“Well,” Kagome finally said, “this doesn’t look like the place for rich businessmen either.”

 

Amusement glinted from his eyes, but his lips did not even reveal the ghost of a smile. “I am not a businessman.”

 

Kagome shrugged, hunching her shoulders slightly and fingering her almost empty bottle. Fingerprints smudged the dark glass, and she fuzzily thought it was such a shame because wasn’t glass supposed to be pretty?

 

She made to stand, to order another, but the man waved her down and strode the counter with steady, even strides. She watched him as he ordered another Kirin for her and another drink for him.

 

“I owe you,” she mumbled when he returned.

 

“You do not,” the man replied shortly. “A ‘thank you’ for the conversation.”

 

“Not good conversation,” Kagome replied awkwardly. Kami, the room was fuzzy.

 

“Better than most,” he assured.

 

Kagome nodded, sliding the dewy cold bottle to her chest.

 

“Why are you here?” she asked curiously.

 

“Perhaps the same reason as you.”

 

“Doubtful,” Kagome snorted.

 

“Enlighten me.”

 

Kagome thought of purity. Love. Honor. She thought of fierce hanyou with even fiercer feelings. She thought about the soft affection of friends and aggressive loyalty of comrades. She thought about campfires, and the conversations surrounding them. She thought about battle. She thought about the past.

 

“I had everything,” she finally said, “and I lost it all.”

 

The man studied her for a moment. He was so intense, so stoic, but she could not feel put off by his coldness. Tears threatened to leak, but Kagome violently pushed them back. This was supposed to be a night where she closed, locked, and tossed the key to the trunk of her memories away. Blubbering over them would not accomplish that.

 

“I have everything,” the man replied, to Kagome’s surprise. “Yet I still have nothing.”

 

Kagome took a second to ponder that, to taste and linger and study. “How?”

 

A bare twitch of the lips, the strongest expression he had yet to make. It was bitter, sweet, and all that is sorrow, in a single muscle spasm. “I wonder myself,” he said.

 

Kagome blinked, confused, but shrugged. She filled the silence with another gulp. Her fingers and face felt oddly numb.

 

“You are drunk,” the man stated.

 

“I’m not,” Kagome protested weakly.

 

“You are.” He blinked. “But perhaps I am a little too.”

 

“You don’t look it,” muttered Kagome resentfully.

 

Another lip twitch. He had such nice lips. “I have had much more time to learn how to compose myself.”

 

“I still don’t think you’re than much older than me. You have no wrinkles.”

 

“I age well.”

 

Kagome glared at him, but it held no real irritation. It was more of a pout than anything. Suddenly Kagome noticed how much pressure was on her bladder.

 

“I have to use the restroom,” she announced, then tried to stand. She stumbled, caught her foot on the leg of the table, and almost upturned their drinks. She grabbed for the edge, and in a blink the man was there holding her up.

 

“Okay,” Kagome admitted, “I might be a little drunk.”

 

“Hm.”

 

Sheepishly, Kagome clutched his forearm as the man escorted her to the restroom. She clumsily pushed through the door, lurching to the first available stall. Her lack of balance forced her grab the toilet paper dispenser to keep herself upright as she relieved herself.

 

She quickly washed her hands and made her way clumsily out of the grungy bathroom, only to find the man waiting for her patiently.

 

“You don’t have to help me,” Kagome said awkwardly.

 

“No, I do not,” he replied, extending a steadying arm once more. Kagome took hold once again, noticing how sturdy and unbendable he felt beneath her weight. She giggled at the thought of him working out. She could not imagine this odd man pumping iron.

 

He quirked an eyebrow at her outburst, but Kagome shook her head.

 

When they reached the table, Kagome stood, swaying slightly. “I need to pay my tab.”

 

“Already paid for.”

 

Kagome blinked at him for a moment before comprehension took effect. “Oh! No! You didn’t. I’ll have to pay you back. I don’t have any cash on me, but--”

 

“I do not want your money.”

 

Kagome stopped rustling through her purse to gaze up at him blearily. “You sure…?”

 

“Quite.”

 

“Well…” Kagome murmured. “Thank you.”

 

“Hm.”

 

He began to steer her to the exit of the bar. “Where are you taking me?”

 

“I will escort you home.”

 

Kagome frowned. “But you don’t know where I live.”

 

“You will tell me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

O

 

The next moment they were driving. Kagome blearily wondered where the time had passed, because she certainly didn’t remembered getting to the car, or even that there was a car. Yet as the neon city lights blurred past, she realized she did not want to return to the shrine. Even in her incapacitated state she would lie in her little twin bed and think about the bulging yellow bag stuffed into the back of her closet, or the bone bead necklace hanging from the corner of her bed frame.

 

“I don’t want to go home.”

 

The man glanced at her, eyes narrowed. “Hn.”

 

Kagome slumped against the door, forehead pressed uncomfortably against the cool glass windshield. Had she given him her address? She couldn’t remember. Well, she wouldn’t be giving it to him now.

 

When the car pulled to a stop, though, they were not at the shrine. Instead they pulled through a gate attached to private, plaster walls. Inside was a traditional Japanese garden surrounding a traditional Japanese house. It was out of place in the bustling, crowded Tokyo, but for some reason Kagome wasn’t surprised. As she slumped out the car, parked beneath a towering, barren willow, she had the vague notion that she should be wearing geta and a kimono. While modern, the estate seemed to retain some of the serene air of the past.

 

Kagome breathed in deep, barely noticing as the man gently grasped her elbow and began to steer her up a stone path. It led to a traditional wooden porch, set before elaborately papered shoji doors. Kagome sighed.

 

“Come,” the man said, and Kagome realized she did not know this stranger’s name. She glanced up at his stoic, aristocratic face and wondered why this man had approached her. More importantly, why was he being so kind?

 

They slipped through the shoji doors, and Kagome followed him. His hand had slipped from her elbow, and now their fingers were linked. His palms were smooth and cool, yet odd calluses roughened the edges. Nostalgia reigned, but Kagome was too tipsy to understand why.

 

The hall blurred, then Kagome found herself swaying in a barren room with only a cot and a few tapestries. She stared at them as they portrayed war, battle, and swordsmanship in their delicately woven threads.

 

“I will leave you here.”

 

Kagome said nothing until his hand slipped from hers.

 

“Please wait,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be alone.”

 

This was not normal. Kagome had never been one to make selfish requests, but the alcohol had loosened the latch she kept on her tongue. The words slipped out before the thought even entered her mind.

 

“Oh,” She stuttered. “Never mind. I didn’t mean--”

 

But he did not move away, instead clasped her hand once more and lead her to the cot, helping to lower her on it. A half a second later he was on the floor beside her, legs crossed and back strait. Kagome felt bedraggled and ill-mannered next to his proud stature. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Clumsily, awkwardly, Kagome turned herself around and shifted onto his lap. He tensed even further, feeling as brittle as glass, but Kagome melted against him. His hands remained loosely on his knees, though the knuckles were the odd yellow-white that revealed tension.

 

“I don’t even know you name.

 

Something rumbled in his chest, but he said nothing.

 

It was not supposed to be sexual. Kagome’s fuzzy minded action had merely been a byproduct of yearning. She desired the touch of another human, the warmth of a person giving comfort. He could have been eighty. He could have been a woman. He could have been a dog. She didn’t care, she just wanted the feel of a living being pressed against her--tangible proof she was not alone.

 

She didn’t know who started it. One moment he was tense and uncomfortable, then his lips were brushing her neck and her hands were running up his thighs. His hands had moved to her waist, gripping the cloth of her t-shirt in tight fists. His mouth was scorching against her jaw, ear, shoulder. Butterfly kissed placed everywhere, lighter than a sakura petal’s fall.

 

She twisted, and his arms wrapped around her torso as her legs encircled his abdomen. The tangibility of his lust pressed against her rear, yet nervousness had been replaced by the surreal fog of alcohol.

 

Their lips came together, and he tasted sweet, like coke and whiskey. He smelled like musk and starch and skin. Yet she couldn’t get close enough, wishing she could merge her body into his like summer and sunlight.

 

Then he was pulling her shirt over her head, then her bra, and she was bare. He gazed wonderingly at her breasts, stopping her as she went to conceal them with trembling hands. He lowered his head to leave light, lingering kisses over her pert, pink nipples.

 

More time shift. He was beside her on the cot, and now her jeans were missing, as well as his jacket and dress shirt. His chest was well chiseled, and she couldn’t stop running her tongue and teeth across his silky, pale skin. He trembled beneath her touch, and she felt powerful.

 

And then they were both naked, and she stared unashamedly at the proud, straining shaft of his manhood. She had seen them before, but never like this….

 

His face was between her legs and waves of heat and electricity ran through her body as his tongue laved that secret spot she rarely thought of. She wanted to grab his lovely midnight hair, but instead settled for fisting the cotton sheets. She was floating, a cloud of light and dark, of past and present being overwhelmed by the simple _here_ and _now._

Never before had she felt so wanted, never before had she felt so singular. This man, she did not know his name, but for a few seconds he carried her heart at his fingertips.

 

Then he was hovering over her, his eyes staring down impassively at her, thought there was a flicker there. The lush humidity of a southern jungle paled in comparison to his heat. He urged himself between her thighs, stretching her thighs wide. Kagome felt him brush against her folds.

 

He jerked, surged forward, taking her and Kagome cried out. She was not prepared for the pain. The numbness that encompassed her mind and body fled in a matter of seconds leaving her staring up at an unknown man who was buried inside her in the most intimate way possible.

 

“You are untaken,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

 

“Yes,” Kagome whimpered fearfully. He was too big.

 

In a flash he withdrew, rolling away from her with a growl. He snatched his pants and viciously tugged them on as Kagome sat up, drawing her knees to her chest defensively. Never in her life had she felt so low, so cheap, so stupid. Kami, she was just so tired. She lowered her face to her knees, trying not to cry. An image of golden eyes and silver ears flashed before her. How horrified would he be, knowing the pure girl he had once protected could give herself away so freely?

 

“ _Inuyasha,”_ she sniffled to herself. 

 

The sound of dressing stopped.

 

Kagome paid no heed, but suddenly a hand was gasping her elbow and forcing her to face him.

 

_“What_ did you just say?”

 

Kagome stilled. “A name.”

 

“ _What name?”_ So intense. His expression had transformed from a frozen mask to one of intensity, and Kagome felt overwhelmed, and so damned tired.

 

“An old friend. An old, lost friend….” She whispered.

 

He had only gotten his pants on, but the rage that had poured from his body seemed to have been whisked away, leaving behind only a hollow fatigue.

 

“I’m sorry,” Kagome said meekly.

 

He replied stiffly. “I was unaware.”

 

“I don’t even know your name.”

 

He paused. He was studying her face, hungry and regretful at the same time. Thoughtlessly, his hand lingered on her calf. He seemed completely unaware of it.

 

“Sleep,” he finally said, voice husky but commanding.

 

Exhaustion crashed, and Kagome suddenly felt that would be an amazing idea. She crawled beneath the rumpled sheets, uncaring of her nudity. The cot was soft and comforting, a mother’s touch. Her head barely touched the pillow before sleep roiled over her like a thick fog.

 

She thought, maybe, someone had been stroking her hair.

_O_

Kagome woke disoriented and lost. She was naked, in an unfamiliar room, and extremely hung over. Her mouth tasted thick and mucous lined; her head hammered and her stomach rolled more than the most terrifying roller coaster.

 

The place between her legs was sore, and stung sharply every time she shifted.

 

Sunlight shafted into the room through a window. It had the traditional wooden cross hatching with glass panes set between. She barely registered the tapestries, though she thought she remembered them from the previous night. She definitely didn’t remember the window, which seemed just one of many things she had forgotten.

 

She rolled over, nearly whining at the aches it brought forth. On the other side of the room was a shoji door; beside the cot her clothes heaped in haphazard pile.

 

Flashes of memory appeared. The dingy bar; the comforting man; the drive back; the kissing; the…

 

“Oh no….” Kagome whispered brokenly.

 

And they had--they had--

 

She had lost her virginity in the worse way possible.

 

Kagome felt the crash of disgust and anger surge through her chest. She wanted to beat at something; she wanted to purge herself. An invisible layer of immoral dirt seemed to coat her skin and heart. She was not this kind of girl, so how could she allow it to happen?

 

She reviewed her memories again. She didn’t even know his name.

 

Gingerly, Kagome extracted herself from the blankets and picked at her clothes. Glancing down, she noticed the glaring sheen of blood that had dried on her inner thigh. She tamped down the urge to vomit.

 

Quickly she dressed. Her fingers shook and the room swayed around her, but she had to escape. She direly needed a shower, to wash away the awful feeling that oozed over her mind. For some reason, though, she knew it would not truly help.

 

Completely dressed, Kagome rushed from the room, intent on escaping.

 

O

 

Kagome still had her powers, so that was one myth that was, thankfully, debunked. Despite its uselessness, she still practiced her youkai deadly archery after sweeping the shrine and performing her part-time maiden duties. The rest of the time she spent working at the city library, where she spent her time organizing books, catering to the public and reading up on history. Ridiculous, she knew better, but what else did she have? She had barely graduated high school.

 

Yet curled up in her childhood room, Kagome couldn’t stop thinking about her big ‘mess-up,’ as she dubbed it. Never in all of her life did she expect to have a tawdry one night stand, much less lose her virginity to a man she didn’t know. She would peer out the window and stare at the moon, barely peeking through the leafy, summer branches of Goshinboku.

 

Only a few months ago, she had been fighting a deadly battle hundreds of years in the past, and now she was living a perfectly normal life.

 

How funny things worked out.

 

A week later, Kagome sat at the front desk of the library, twirling her hair and perusing a historical fiction. The smell of must and paper and ink soothed her, and Kagome couldn’t help taking a deep breath and sighing. She spun her chair around cheerily as she heard the rustle of plastic emerge from the back room.

 

“Kagome!” Her boss called gaily.

 

“Hello, Mrs. Yume!” Kagome called back, glancing around before stepping into the backroom to help Mrs. Yume.

 

Mrs. Yume was the type of woman who was petite and soft, with kindly crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes and a solar bright smile. She was stacking a few to-go containers on the counter in the middle of the room, which was surrounded by piles of books that had yet to be shelved.

 

“I brought lunch,” Mrs. Yume explained. “Just simple bento, so don’t worry about paying me back.”

 

Kagome sighed and helped her stack the rest of the food. A simple bento was an understatement, but Kagome accepted the gift graciously, following the woman out to the front desk where they sat with their meals. Kagome clicked through the book registry while munching lazily. Mrs. Yume had a torrid romance propped open behind a decrepit English text.

 

It was an odd prickle that crawled up her neck – that’s what alerted Kagome. It grew stronger and stronger, a spiritual itch that she couldn’t scratch. She looked up – and felt the blood rush away from her face like a leech had suctioned itself to her scalp.

 

Even with her fuzzy memory, she could place the man who took her virginity.

 

Kagome set down her chopsticks and took the best option she could think of – she ducked behind her computer. Any other person she would cheerily greet, but….

 

_I cannot face him._

“Ah! Mr. Fujioka, it’s been so long!” Mrs. Yume said, standing to bow to the overwhelmingly tall man. He nodded his head in return, though his gaze slid over to Kagome. His expression didn’t change, but Kagome felt her shoulders hunch up to her ears, like a turtle retracting into its shell.

 

“Mrs. Yume,” he replied, voice calm and deep, like a placid sea. “I wish to make a trade.”

 

Mrs. Yume laughed, sounding almost girlish in her joy. “You never change, do you? You realize this is against regulation.”

 

She winked at him, then quirked a trickster grin at Kagome.

 

“ _But…”_ she continued, “I’m sure Kagome won’t tell.”

 

Kagome’s cheeks flushed, because he was looking at her again.

 

“No, Mrs. Yume,” she mumbled, before turning back to stare blankly at her computer screen.

 

Mrs. Yume giggled again, stepping out from behind the wide desk to usher the man to one of the back rooms. There’s was one of the libraries that had a special room dedicated towards antique books and scrolls. It was closely monitored and never open to the general public.

 

Again, he slid an undecipherable look her way and, again, Kagome avoided his gaze. She pretended to type something on the computer, and only succeeded in opening a multitude of odd pages that she had never seen. After Mrs. Yume and Kagome’s _‘one night stand’_ were safely out of sight, Kagome let her face drop into her hands.

 

“I am such an idiot.”

 

O

 

It was a short thirty minutes before the couple reemerged, both holding slim packages wrapped in parchment paper and plastic.

 

“It is always a pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Yume,” he was saying. Kagome’s spine tingled. For a mere moment, her aura crackled. For the first time since his arrival, her spine straightened, eyes widening.

 

His face was still impassive, a stone wall which she could see nothing past.

 

“I just wish you would visit more!” Mrs. Yume exclaimed. “You’re always the most knowledgeable of scholars.”

 

A small twitch of his lips, almost a smirk. “I know.”

 

Mrs. Yume fluttered a flirtatious hand around her lips. “Thank goodness it was Kagome on the desk with me. She’s one of the smart ones. She lives at a shrine, you know! That’s right up your alley, Mr. Fujioka.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

Kagome smiled demurely, though her insides quivered. Her skin felt overly sensitive, her sweater feeling coarse against her skin. She felt hot.

 

Mr. Fujioka turned away from her and tipped the package in a small salute to Mrs. Yume. “I will return soon.”

 

“I’ll be waiting!”

 

He gave Kagome a small nod. “Miss Higurashi.”

 

She tensed, if possible, even more, spine so brittle just a small breath would shatter it into a million pieces. Mr. Fujioka strode through the glass double doors, both women watching him stride out with straight backed confidence.

 

Mrs. Yume sighed dreamily. “As long as I’ve known him, he never seems to age a bit!” She turned to Kagome. “My, Kagome, you’re fairly glowing!”

 

Kagome didn’t respond, still intently staring at the front doors, wondering how he knew her surname.

 

O

 

She was in her room. Sprawled next to her was her large yellow back pack, dirty, frayed. It smelled of must, a little of earth, like five hundred years of history neatly packed away in her bedroom closet. Kagome stared at her hands, bony, petite, and pale. Dirt was packed beneath her fingernails in little crescent moons – which oddly reminded her of Sesshoumaru.

 

Kagome snorted.

 

Sunlight filtered through her bedroom window, the yellow bright rays of a setting sun. It was the kind of light that revealed all the lazily floating dust motes, golden filaments, like memories. Kagome brought her hands up into the light, watching as they glowed a soft violet, flickering as she pushed and pulled the power through her finger tips, a lunar tide that only she controlled.

 

O

 

_Issa said:_

_The first firefly…_

_But, he got away and I…_

_Air in my fingers._

O

 

 

The café was cluttered, a sharp murmur filling the place as students worked on slim laptops and friends chatted happily. Kagome sat at her own little table, neat with a pale lace tablecloth covering it. A joyful daisy decorated the middle in a cheap crystal vase. Kagome tapped her fingers against her cup of tea, reading her novel as she waited for the tea to cool.

 

Perhaps it was the noise of the café, or her preoccupation with the book, but she didn’t notice him until he pulled the chair out that was across from her.

 

The first thing she noticed were his eyes – cool, calm, calculating. Kagome felt her heart squeeze and her hands tremble before she pressed them against the smooth pages of her book.

 

He settled down, not saying a word, gaze trained on her face.

 

Finally, she found her voice. “Are you following me?”

 

He seemed to pause for a moment, thinking about his words. “Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Curiosity.”

 

Kagome felt the same heat flooding her system, the same rushing of her blood. She looked down at her hands; they were glowing purple.

 

“I don’t even know your name.” Thinking about the other day, she revised her statement. “Your first name.”

 

He was staring at her hands now, as well.

 

“It is not necessary.”

 

Kagome scowled. “I think it is. You knew my name – somehow.”

 

Mr. Fujioka tilted his head slightly, almost like a dog studying something he doesn’t understand.

 

He avoided the second part of her comment. “You may call me… Arata.”

 

Kagome snorted, and he raised a dark, delicate eyebrow. “Seriously?”

 

“Quite.”

 

Kagome paused, feeling the awkwardness claw up around them.

 

“So,” she murmured, then trailing off when she had nothing to say.

 

“I am not a threat.” He looked pointedly at her hands, which still glowed.

 

Kagome tensed, then took a deep breath. Her body still felt flushed and filled with adrenaline. Perhaps this is what girls felt around the men who de-virginized them, though she thought it was probably under slightly different circumstances. After a few moments, the glow subsided.

 

“The other night…” Kagome murmured.

 

“-Was a mistake.” For a moment, he had the grace to look ashamed and deeply uncomfortable. Kagome felt a sharp pain in her chest. That’s what the taking of her virginity had been relegated to, a ‘mistake.’

 

“Okay,” Kagome finally said. Her tea was cool; she took a bracing sip. “Why are you here?”

 

“You are a shrine maiden.”

 

“Part-time. So?”

 

“I have never been able to get close enough to a shrine maiden to research their practices.”

 

Kagome frowned. “We’re not uncommon, so why would you need me?”

 

“You are a true _miko_ , not the breed that sweeps steps and tells simple fortunes.”

 

They both glanced at her hands and Kagome finally moved them beneath the table. His own fingers tapped restlessly against the edge of the table, the only sign he was not completely comfortable in his own skin. Kagome wondered why he still wore his long jacket inside.

 

“Your purity was not… affected,” he continued.

 

Kagome averted her eyes, cheeks flushed. She tried not to think about the fact that she hazily remembered this man naked. “No.”

 

“That is good.”

 

“I don’t trust you,” Kagome finally announced, steely resolve flooding her mind and body. “You’re hiding something from me. You took my virginity and expect me to forget it only a few days later. I don’t _know_ you. I think I’ve had enough of this conversation.”

 

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

 

“I’m leaving now,” she said unnecessarily. She stood, collecting her book and purse, only sparing half a thought to mourn her unfinished tea.

 

He stood as she left, watching her. She felt his eyes on her long past the time she had left the café, and her skin crawled with the sensation of being studied.

 

O

 

Kagome dreamed that night. She dreamed that Inuyasha hovered over her bed. He stroked a strand of hair from her face, tenderly, like a lover. She wanted to touch him, to speak to him, to taste him, but she was paralyzed to her bed.

 

“Why, Kagome?” he asked, and shadows crossed over his face, like cobwebs, blurring his features together in a wonderful visage of gold and silver. Strands of his hair teased her bare shoulders. “Why would you give yourself up? What about me?”

 

Kagome wanted to scream. _“I waited for you! What about me? Why not me?”_ But nothing came out of her mouth. She was frozen, eyes burning with the need for him to understand.

 

He caressed her cheek, and leaned down so his breath brushed against her lips, soft and sensuous. She could feel the disappointment resonate from him, though she could no longer see his face in the darkness. She wondered if she ever could.

 

“I thought you loved me,” he whispered. Then he kissed her, a soft velvet brush of lips against lips. But it wasn’t right, that wasn’t his kiss.

 

She wanted to claw at him, to pull at his hair and merge his body with hers, but something wasn’t right.

 

He pulled back, and the waist-length silver hair now pooled around her like an ocean, and the heavy dark eyebrows were transformed into the thin silver brows of his brother.

 

“Vile human,” he muttered, before leaning back in to bite her lower lip. Kagome screamed in her mind, struggled, calling for Inuyasha, but she was being devoured by lust and fire—

 

Kagome gasped awake, body soaked in sweat and tears running down her cheeks. She rested her head in her hands and choked back a sob.

 

“What have I done?” She groaned to herself. She tried to bring back InuYasha’s face, to remember the adoration in his eyes, the way he had held her before she jumped down the well for the last time. All that came to her was a stale picture of the Feudal Era, a flat photograph of her friends. She couldn’t feel his face, or his warmth. She couldn’t remember his smell.

 

She looked up. She was glowing again, so bright she almost felt blinded.

 

_What is happening to me?_

The glow brightened, and Kagome felt the fire explode within her, a bright blast that washed away all the negativity, the sorrow, the fear. Kagome’s power created a nuclear wave of purity, and she was left in a dark, dark room feeling drained and empty.

 

She collapsed back into her bed, wondering how she had become so unstable.

 

O

 

The next day Kagome stumbled around like a zombie. She barely picked at her breakfast, not responding to the concerned comments of her mother. She went to the library, staring at the stacks of books blankly, not letting a thought enter her mind. She greeted customers mechanically.

 

She was just so _tired._

She barely noticed when the man entered the library doors with a bang. The only warning was the flicker of warmth that filled the empty cavity in her breast.

 

“You.” He greeted.

 

“Me.” Kagome said, not having the will-power to say anything else. He was paler than usual, almost clammy looking. His usually handsome features seemed haggard.

 

“You need to control yourself.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“You do.”

 

Kagome slumped back in her seat. “I don’t.”

 

“You almost purified half of Tokyo last night,” he snapped.

 

“So?”

 

His lean figure tensed, almost brittle with rage. In a flash, faster than any normal human, he was behind the desk and grabbing her bicep. He pulled her limp figure from the office chair and dragged her to the supply closet, shoving her in and slamming the door behind the both of them. The little flicker of flame in her chest was now an inferno, and she was glowing again.

 

He squared their chests, clasping both her biceps. A sizzling noise filled the small space.

 

“Control yourself!” he commanded, shaking her slightly.

 

“I can’t!” she snapped back.

 

“You must! You are my responsibility, and I will not allow you to self-destruct.”

 

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Stop touching me!” The smell of burnt flesh assaulted her nose. “What _is_ that?”

 

“You are murdering the innocent with your childish tantrums,” he said, ignoring her question and her struggle.

 

“How?” she demanded.

 

“You think it’s just humans in this city?”

 

Kagome froze. Youkai? So close? How had she not sensed them? How could they stay hidden? She thought she had been alone for so long…. Could InuYasha…?

 

Her powers flared, and finally Arata was forced to release her, pushed back against the far wall, growling in pain. Her skin crawled a cackling purity that seemed to beam with light, soft and pulsing, like the moon itself.

 

“Kagome!” Arata snapped. “You will kill them!”

 

Kagome felt her heart shudder and pause. What if Shippo was in the city? What about any of the other friends she had made?

 

Kagome felt her body scream for release, for the power to burst forth, but she wrangled it, shoving it back into her chest where it pulsed with fury, seething. The glow subsided, and Kagome fell back against the wall, her body slumping to the floor.

 

“Mr. Fujioka,” Kagome mumbled tiredly, “I’m so sorry.”

 

He leaned against the far wall, staring at her with hooded eyes. There was a glint of something hungry, but Kagome was too fatigued to discern it, or to care.

 

“I’m pretty sure,” she continued, “that this is your entire fault.”

 

O

 

They exited the closet to find the library just as empty as before. Kagome stumbled to her office chair and collapsed into it, spinning to stare at the mysterious Arata expectantly.

 

He took a seat in the office chair, looking much more composed than she felt.

 

“You are much too powerful for this era,” he finally said. He gingerly stretched his hands; there were blisters on his palms.

 

“You’re youkai.” Kagome stated.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I thought I was alone,” she confessed.

 

“You are.”

 

“But…”

 

“You are not youkai, You are not one of us. You could destroy the youkai of the city with one misplaced burst of power. Why would they befriend you?”

 

“I would never….”

 

“You almost did.”

 

Kagome felt her cheeks burn with shame and self-hatred.

 

“You are the last miko with any hint of power.” Arata stated. “You are alone.”

 

Kagome was suddenly overwhelmed by a strong sense of familiarity. Something about his expression, his eyes…. But it passed her by before she could understand its origination.

 

“I don’t really care about that,” she said.

 

He paused, his head tilted, reminding her once again of a curious dog.

 

“I wish to ensure your control over your power is stable.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I will be forced to kill you if it isn’t.”

 

Kagome thought about how he was forced away from her when the purity reached its brightest. “Would you be able to?”

 

His eyes narrowed menacingly. “Do not underestimate me.”

 

Kagome sighed, not willing to continue the diatribe. “I will control it now. I did not know it affected anyone.”

 

“I will not take your word for it.”

 

Kagome tensed in indignation. “Seriously? I didn’t know.”

 

“I have not gotten this far through trusting people, and certainly not humans.”

 

“Whatever,” Kagome opined, crossing her arms.

 

“I will remain in contact to ensure this does not happen again.”

 

“So you’re going to keep stalking me?”

 

“Human…” he murmured warningly.

 

Kagome waved a lazy hand at him. “You don’t know anything about me.”

 

His jaw tensed. Without a word, he stood. Kagome watched him, feeling a hunger in her belly, whispering for her to force him into revealing himself. He left the library without a backward glance.

 

O

 

Summer was fast approaching. Kagome leaned on her broom, staring up at the branches of the Goshinboku, which sported bright young leaflets, yet unfurled. Sunlight trickled through, creating reflective spots in her eyes every time she looked at a shadow. She closed her eyes; imagining InuYasha perched in the branches above, staring proudly over the city like a king as he waited impatiently for her to pack. Even with everything he had been through, InuYasha still held his back straight.

 

She felt something whisper behind her. Kagome whirled around to find Arata leaning against the storage shed, watching her impassively.

 

“Mr. Fujioka,” Kagome greeted civilly.

 

He inclined his head, not deigning to speak. Kagome returned to her sweeping, wishing she could grab her memories, her fantasies, back to her chest and relive them. With Arata there, though, the only thing she could think of was the way he had touched her, like a lover.

 

O

 

The next time she saw him she was walking home from the library. Her belly grumbled, and she was considering a visit to a cheap ramen stand when she noticed him watching her from a dirty alleyway. She paused with a sigh before approaching him.

 

“If this is going to keep up, you might as well just join me.”

 

“I am not your friend.”

 

Kagome rolled her eyes. “I know, I know, but it’s weird when I know you’re following me. I’m not good at ignoring people. Either way, you might as well join me.”

 

A playful breeze tugged at his ear length locks. He studied her like an enemy, and Kagome couldn’t help but feel rejected.

 

“I’m getting ramen,” she finally said, and walked away. She didn’t think he would follow, but she soon noticed his presence at her elbow.

 

“You have to admit,” she said, peaking at him from the corner of her eyes, “it’s kind of silly to act all subversive when we both know you’re there.”

 

“Hn.”

 

Kagome snorted, catching sight of an empty ramen booth. She bee-lined for it, the youkai following at his own pace.

 

Even though it was just a simple stand, warmth hovered around it like a comforting bubble. Kagome huddled against the counter while ordering. She turned to the youkai expectantly.

 

“I do not need sustenance.”

 

The old man behind the counter shrugged.

 

“He’ll get the same thing as me,” Kagome told him, and he shrugged again before turning to prepare their bowls. “Don’t worry, Mr. Fujioka, it’s on me.”

 

His lips tightened, but he didn’t reply. It was only a few minutes before their bowls were slid before them, steaming in the slowly cooling evening. Kagome grabbed hers with a quick ‘ _thank you’_ and strode to a nearby bench. Arata followed. Kagome dug into her bowl, and watched Arata, out of the corner of her eyes, as he followed suit. He ate much more gracefully than her, almost like royalty.

 

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” Kagome suggested.

 

A slight pause. “No.”

 

Kagome’s shoulders slumped, then straightened in determination. “How about why you were drunk in a dirty bar?”

 

Arata frowned, but didn’t deign to respond. Kagome hadn’t expected him to. She didn’t want to reveal her reasons either, though she was pretty sure she had drunkenly garbled out some of it to him anyway.

 

“See you again tomorrow?” she commented as he stood, clasping the near empty bowl in one hand.

 

His gaze slid to her, eyes dark and fathomless. Kagome couldn’t read him, but she liked to think there was a small spark of camaraderie there.

 

Or maybe not.

 

Arata disappeared without a word, leaving Kagome to return both bowls to the stand.

 

O

 

At breakfast, Kagome was confronted by her mother.

 

“Kagome,” her mother murmured quietly, “you’ve been quiet lately.”

 

Kagome glanced up. “I’m sorry, mama. I’ve just been preoccupied.”

 

Mrs. Higurashi dried off her hands with the closest dish towel and slid into the seat across from her. Kagome began to notice the thickening crow’s feet around her mother’s eyes, and the sprinkling of gray hair at her temple. She was aging, and Kagome hadn’t noticed until now.

 

“I know things have been hard for you lately,” she murmured, “the past few years…. Well, I want you to know we’re always here for you.”

 

“I know.”

 

Mrs. Higurashi smiled tiredly. “Have you thought about your future? School? It’s not too late yet.”

 

Kagome offered a wry smile. “I’m happy at the shrine.”

 

“Is that so?” Mrs. Higurashi said.

 

“It is.” Kagome laughed. “I swear, mama. I don’t think school would…. Well, I have nothing of interest to study right now.”

 

“What about history?”

 

Kagome thought about how she studied the old scrolls at the library, how there was no mention of her friends, their adventure, or the foes they faced. They only portrayed old human wars and plague. Only in the mythical scrolls was she even close to learning about youkai, and from what she read they weren’t even close to true.

 

“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Kagome finally commented. “Thanks, though.”

 

Mrs. Higurashi sighed, shrugging slightly. It was a _‘well, I tried’_ gesture; the cursory attempt at helping someone even though you knew it was a failed attempt from the very beginning.

 

Kagome finished her breakfast quickly after that, thanking her mother before nearly sprinting out the door. Despite her rush, though, she was unable to shake the feeling that all her mother’s worry was directed at her.

 

O

 

The shrine had been swept twice over, the flat stones smooth of Goshinboku leaves. Kagome leaned against her broom, reveling in the small breeze that tickled her bare ankles. She had the place to herself. Sota was at school. Her mother and grandfather were at a doctor’s appointment. Kagome was alone.

 

Glancing around to ensure no worshippers had snuck by without her noticing, Kagome dropped the broom and hitched up her priestess hakama. She grabbed the first branch, grunting as she lifted herself up. Gingerly she climbed the Goshinboku with a mindless determination. She made it halfway up before she found a branch to settle in. She didn’t have Inuyasha’s reflexes or balance, so she straddled a thick branch, keeping her back pressed against the smooth bark of the tree.

 

Kagome pressed her palms to the branch, closing her eyes.

 

Images of the past flashed through her mind, like pages in a favored childhood book. Sango, Miroku, Shippo, Inuyasha: glimpses as they were, and how she hoped they were now. Kagome’s chest tightened and she pressed her palms even harder against Goshiboku’s limb, as though it could tease the darkness from her chest. Kagome didn’t know how long she stayed up there; until the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the tall, cramped buildings of Tokyo into shadowy giants with gleaming eyes.

 

Her family would be home soon. Kagome took her hands away from the branch, and for a moment she thought maybe Goshinboku had taken away some of the darkness. The ache in her chest was gentled; still there, but muted, like the moon hidden behind a clouded sky.

 

Kagome neared the bottom of the tree when she slipped. The branch was smoother than expected – her shoe didn’t grip. As she tipped, in slow motion to her shocked mind, she desperately grasped for a higher branch, but she missed.

 

She hit the ground with a sickening crack.

 

O

 

Kagome woke up only a few minutes later, rolling over with a strangled whimper. Her left arm throbbed, and nausea tickled her throat as she looked down at her left wrist to find it at a very odd angle. There was no doubt in her mind that it was broken. She’d seen enough of Inuyasha’s injuries to know what a fractured bone looked like.

 

Kagome tried to choke back a sob, tears squeezing down her cheeks despite her effort to stop them. She was alone.

 

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!” she cursed, pointedly not looking at her wrist.

 

_I’m such an idiot sometimes._

Kagome could feel the smooth pond that was her powers rippling with her distress. It bucked against her restraints, flooding with agitation. Kagome gasped, a strangled cry from the effort of keeping herself in check.

 

_It’s just a broken arm. It’s just a broken arm._

She glanced back at her wrist, twisted like an old oak branch. It didn’t help. The deepening darkness of the shrine was being pushed back by the soft lilac glow of her purity.

 

“No, no, no,” Kagome whimpered, curling into herself, her snapped wrist held limply aloft. The glow grew brighter, pressing against her skin from the inside, like some kind of tidal wave bomb. She almost didn’t notice when the ache faded away from her wrist, replaced with a flowing motion, like waves were slipping back and forth across her skin.

 

Kagome peered up with wide, terrified eyes as her wrist began to pop back into place. The sickening crunch, in reverse, caused bile to claw up her throat. Like a bad dream, Kagome watched in horror as her wrist untwisted and snapped back into its proper place. She held her arm as far away from herself as possible, like it wasn’t a part of her body.

 

Even after, the purity pushed, rushing through her veins and pouring from her body in a rush. Kagome staggered up, trying not to think about all the scratches that had marred her body, now gone. Kagome took one look at her house, before stumbling in the opposite direction. The shrine air felt abrasive in her lungs, and she wasn’t sure how long she could walk.

 

Kagome had always been powerful; after all, she had been the Shikon Miko. But Kagome had never faced anything like this. Never had her powers just _healed._ Not like that.

 

She only made it as far as the well-house before the brightness became blinding. Kagome ripped the sliding door open. Even in the few months of disuse, the door stuck on dirty buildup. Inside, Kagome slammed the door shut behind her. She staggered down the uneven steps until she reached the well, where she collapsed on the cold, packed dirt.

 

O

 

Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths.

 

The brightness wavered, and sobs caught in her throat. She needed something. She needed someone.

 

_Inuyasha. Please, please, please. I need you!_

But Inuyasha was five hundred years in the past, and non-existent in this era. Kagome dug her nails into the earth, dragging chunks of clay in her palms, forcing the cold to anchor her. She panted with the effort of keeping the purity inside, though her body screamed and wailed with the need for release.

 

_Let it go,_ her body wailed. _Let loose!_

_Shippo,_ her mind supplied. Think about what that would do to Shippo.

 

She fought herself so hard she didn’t notice the gritty slide of the door as it open and shut.

 

“Miss Higurashi.”

 

Kagome released a sobbing gasp, glancing behind her to find Arata studying her from the top of the steps.

 

“Go away,” she groaned. “Please. Go away.”

 

He ignored her, stepping down from the ledge to the dirt floor. The darkness of his suit seemed to absorb the light of her pulsing purity. His face stood out in stark contrast; pale, angular, inhuman.

 

“Miko,” he said, and something inside her _pinged._

_‘Miko,’_ someone said, a long time ago.

 

But then another pulse pushed outward, and Kagome had to force it back in, the glow brightening and dulling again, a wave of power.

 

Arata crouched down beside her, looking unconcerned. Kagome wanted to hide her face, curling tighter in on herself, as though she could force herself to become one with the earth. Maybe she could. Maybe she could become the spirit of the well-house, warning curious girls away from heartbreak and adventure.

 

“Miko, breath.”

 

“I _am!”_ Kagome snapped.

 

He ignored her, repeating, “Breath. Do not fight it. Let it flow through you. Do not block – redirect.”

 

Kagome focused on the dim murmur of his voice, letting it soothe her. It was a trickling spring pond, a cool autumn breeze. It was the fall of _sakura_ petals at the end of a _hanami._ It was the warmth of a kitchen when her mother was cooking.

 

Slow, so terribly slow. Kagome redirected. When the power pushed out, she forced it to the side. More, more and more. Closer and closer to a circle, until it rushed through her limbs. Even more redirecting, until it slowed to a river. To a stream. To a trickle. And then finally smoothed into a pond.

 

Kagome collapsed forward, not caring that her cheek was smashed against the dirt floor. Her body was limp; a marionette that’s strings had just been cut. Arata sighed softly behind her.

 

“Arata?” she whispered. “What is wrong with me?”

 

He didn’t answer, though she felt the whisper of a hand caress the length of her hair. Kagome allowed herself a brief second of vanity – soaked in sweat, covered in dirt as she was. It quickly slipped away, a haze of fatigue fogging her thoughts. She could sleep on the dirt, and not care. 

 

“Come,” Arata said, interrupting her slow fade into unconsciousness. “To bed.”

 

It was a long and arduous task just to lift her body to her knees, like gravity had tied twenty kilo bricks to each of her limbs.

 

Arata only gave an exasperated “Mm,” before bundling her into his arms and lifting her.

 

Kagome blinked at him before muttering waspishly, “I could have gotten up myself.”

 

His dark gaze slid to pin her reprovingly. “I do not have the patience to deal with your sloth. This will be more tolerable for us both.”

 

Kagome grumbled, but gave in. Her head slumped to rest partially against his chest. She barely paid any heed when Arata jiggled the door open with his foot, not bothering to shut it behind them. She snoozed away the silent walk across the shrine courtyard, and she only woke when she was lowered to the cold sheets of her bed. She hadn’t realized how warm his body was until he released her.

 

He allowed her a moment to clumsily kick her shoes off before tucking her gently in with her comforter, even going as far as cocooning her in like a dirty human caterpillar. If she wasn’t so exhausted, she would find it amusing. Instead, Kagome sniffled like a child and peered from her blankets at Arata with an owlish intensity.

 

“Sleep,” he ordered; posture straight-backed and regal.

 

“How old are you?” she mumbled.

 

He blinked, the only concession to reveal his surprise. “Too old,” he finally murmured. “Sleep, Kagome.”

 

Kagome slept.

 

O

 

She woke up once, bleary and confused, on her side with blankets halfway kicked off and something grasping her hand. She didn’t move, didn’t dare as her eyes focused in the darkness to the slouched figure of Arata next to her bed. At some point he had pulled out her rickety desk chair to settle beside her bed. Some point later, their hands had clasped.

 

She studied his hand; all pale skin and long, graceful fingers. It dwarfed her hand, making her feel delicate and childish at the same time.

 

He stirred, dark eyes sliding open to peer at her. He sighed once he caught her watching him. Quickly he released her hand, but only so he could lean forward to press a dry kiss to her forehead.

 

“Sleep,” he whispered, pulling away to untangle the blankets and smooth them over her once again.

 

Slumber found Kagome quickly, tugging her eyelids back shut with a vengeance.

 

It was a dream, she thought when she woke. It was a dream.

 

It had to be dream.

 

O

 

The morning brought a chilly room with an open window. Kagome huddled beneath her blankets, trying to avoid the dewy air as she muddled through her memories of the previous day. Her desk chair was back to its proper place, tucked neatly beneath her desk. The image of the tall, solemn Arata neatening up her bedroom had Kagome quietly giggling into her pillow. The horror of last night, of her unpredictable, uncontrollable powers still lingered, but a bubbling happiness had somehow nestled its way into her chest.

 

It had been a very, very long time since Kagome had woken in a good mood.

 

Kagome slithered out of her blankets to swing her legs over the side of the bed. She shivered as the cold air nipped at her skin, though she was quickly shocked out of it by her appearance in the mirror across the room.

 

If a film set had been recruiting young women to play filthy, wan looking girls, then Kagome would be the perfect candidate. Dirt smudged her cheeks and forehead, and her hair promised to be a snarl and a half. Her clothes didn’t even bear mentioning, though Kagome was sure her mother was not going to be happy with the mud stains.

 

First order of business, then, was a shower.

 

Kagome rinsed and scrubbed until her skin was pink and raw, like a freshly cook shrimp. It took her minutes to decide what to wear, a deliberation she hadn’t cared about in a while. She finally picked a flirty skirt with fat tulips print haphazardly around it, and a loose knitted sweater.

 

Presenting herself at breakfast, though, had given Kagome her first spark of shame. Her family responded to her good-humor with wary shock and unsubtle glances behind her back.

 

_They have been worried._ She amended the thought. _They are still worried._

Kagome found herself at a loss as to what to talk to her family about. She hadn’t realized how out of the loop she was, and her breast twanged with disappointment. Sota had been appointed captain for his soccer team. Grandfather had secured a new grant for the shrine, and her Mama had been slowly sewing them all ornate yukata to wear for next year’s summer festival. Kagome tried to keep up, but ended up silently withdrawing to smile and listen, promising herself to make it more of a priority to spend time with her family.

 

The house quickly emptied following breakfast, with the exception of Kagome, who offered to do the dishes. She hummed softly to herself as she absent mindedly sponged the small plates and set them to the side to dry.

 

With nothing to do after, Kagome withdrew to her room, where she finally noticed a small piece of ripped notebook paper on her bedside table.

 

_How did I miss that?_

Kagome slowly fingered the paper, noting the artistic flow of the characters, like calligraphy.

 

It read: _Tachikawa Station. Noon. We have matters to discuss._

It wasn’t signed, but Kagome had no doubt it was from Arata. Who else would leave her a note, especially one so practical?

 

Dropping the note, Kagome wandered around her room, wondering what could possibly keep her busy for another three hours.

 

O

 

Noon came rather quickly, with Kagome waiting outside an entrance of Tachikawa station. Arata hadn’t specified an entrance, but Kagome wasn’t worried. He was youkai; he would find her.

 

She was not wrong. A few minutes later Arata loped into view, somehow managing to avoid bumping into people despite the density of the crowd. Kagome wished, ruefully, that she had that skill, as she had already been bumped into more times than she could count.

 

“Hello,” she greeted, smiling meekly. The memories of the night before rushed back, along with desperate embarrassment. She had nearly lost control – again.

 

He merely nodded, impassive, before turning on his heal to stride off, obviously expecting her to follow. Kagome smothered a spark of irritation, scurrying after him with a hitch in her step in an attempt to keep up as she was buffeted by the crowd. A minute later he noticed her struggle and he slowed, but did not deign to offer any help.

 

Kagome was feeling thoroughly harassed by the time they reached a small café tucked into a little corner. It was mercifully empty, with bright, large windows and small tables, though practical in its plastic table clothes instead of the dainty stylized lace most cafes had adopted recently. The waitress approached them quickly, bowing as she proffered their menus.

 

Kagome murmured a quick thank you before ducking behind her menu. Now that they were sitting, she was feeling just a bit bashful again, very aware of her loss of control. She eyed him over the menu as he scanned his own. He had threatened death if she couldn’t get herself under control, but with what happened the previous night… she wasn’t sure that was even possible.

 

The waitress returned and they place their orders. Kagome lamented the menus as they were taken by the waitress; she now had nothing to hide behind as Arata faced her. There was none of the gentleness in his expression that had been there the previous night, and once again Kagome wondered if it had been a dream.

 

She startled herself by speaking first. “Tell me what you know.”

 

His only reaction was the very slight downturn of the corners of his lips.

 

“ _Please,”_ Kagome pleaded. “Something like last night…. I don’t understand.”

 

“Tell me how you lost control.”

 

Kagome felt irritation surge. She didn’t understand why everything was one big mystery, and why – when it completely involved her – she was always left out of the loop.

 

“I fell from the Goshinboku,” Kagome finally said, after swallowing her temper. “I broke my arm.”

 

Arata glanced at her arms, then back at her face. His eyes seemed to search her own, as though looking for the lie.

 

“As you can see,” Kagome continued dryly, twisting her wrists over the table, “I healed.”

 

“That is,” he paused thoughtfully, “unexpected.”

 

“I was hoping you would have an answer.”

 

“Contrary to what you believe, I don’t have the answers to everything.”

 

They were interrupted as the waitress bustled back, placing a pot of tea and two empty porcelain cups between them. She bowed again and left them alone.

 

Arata reached across to pour tea in both the cups, and Kagome couldn’t help but, once again, be enthralled by his hands. She hastily jerked her gaze away when he finished pouring, bringing the cup to her face in an attempt to hide her light blush.

 

He didn’t seem to notice though, to her relief. His gaze seemed to be turned inward. A moment later he refocused.

 

“You need to begin meditating. If you were proficient last night would not have been an issue.”

 

Kagome wanted to protest; she’d never been good at meditating and she certainly didn’t enjoy it. But the memory of losing control held her back. If that’s what it took for that not to happen again, then she would devote herself to it, as unenjoyable as it was.

 

“Fine,” she grumbled petulantly.

 

He quirked a brow while impassively studying her like a recalcitrant child. Kagome felt herself subconsciously straightening her back, thrusting her chin out defiantly.

 

“Hn,” he said, his stare dropping to gaze at the tea. Kagome did the same, feeling silly and ruffled. Kagome swirled the tea in her cup, entranced by the way it nearly slopped over the sides before splashing back in.

 

Arata interrupted the silence. “I will instruct you on meditation.”

 

Kagome’s chest immediately clenched with discomfort. “That’s okay; I’m good.”

 

His dark eyes narrowed, and something flashed in them. Kagome blinked.

 

“I will instruct you twice a week,” he continued, as though she hadn’t said a thing. “You _will_ learn.”

 

“ _Fine_ ,” she bit out, trying to quell the irritation that snapped up inside of her. This man – this _youkai –_ aggravated her beyond reason.

 

Arata nodded and glanced behind her to search for the waitress. He raised two fingers in the air to catch her attention, and Kagome couldn’t help but blink. Something about that seemed so familiar…. A cobweb of deja-vu dusted over the mind, and she saw another hand, two fingers out as a whip sailed through the air—

 

The waitress interrupted her thoughts, and Kagome flinched out of the memory, distracted as the waitress presented the check and Arata took it.

 

“No, I’ll pay—” Kagome protested, ignored as Arata stood to meet the waitress at the little counter by the entrance. He paid quickly, ignoring her to stride out the door. Kagome followed, bumping into his back with a startled squeak when he stopped without warning.

 

He turned around, and he was so close Kagome could feel the warmth of his chest. Kagome wasn’t petite by any means, but he still stood a head above her. Kagome took a stumbling, half-step back in surprise.

 

“I will find you in two days for your first session.” With that, he pushed through the door, leaving her behind.

 

Kagome sighed before pushing through the door before realizing he hadn’t answered any of her questions, though he had certainly left her with more.

 

O

 

For a long time Kagome had been annoyed by how slow the library was. She would sit for hours, waiting for a customer to appear, just to give her something to break the monotony with. With all the silence, too often she was left with her own thoughts, which quickly turned morose following the months she had been ejected from the Feudal Era.

 

Now, though, Kagome was grateful, but she was given time to study.

 

Mrs. Yume was pleasantly surprised that Kagome wanted access to the restricted room. When Kagome asked which books Arata had been studying, Mrs. Yume had winked at her with a knowing laugh. Kagome had tried to deny – _“I’m just curious, Mrs. Yume!”_ – but the woman was not to be deterred. Kagome normally would not have cared, but the fact that her heart _did_ skip a beat every time she thought about him made her more self-conscious about it.

 

Arata was a _jerk._ She _didn’t_ like him.

 

Maybe the more she said it, the more likely it was to come true.

 

Kagome flipped a page in the tome she was perusing, still finding nothing of interest. It was dull, slow reading and Kagome had a difficult time focusing on it.

 

Kagome didn’t understand why she even liked the youkai, considering their disastrous first meeting, which he seemed to have wiped clean from his memory. Kagome would be offended, if she hadn’t wished she could do the exact same thing. It was a very embarrassing dark spot in her life, and her insides cringed every time she thought about it.

 

Kagome pushed the book away with a groan, leaning back in her office chair to rub her eyes. She wasn’t finding _anything_ in these; just page after page of adulterous wives getting whisked away by ogres and demons and such. It was almost insulting how history could be skewed against women to such a degree.

 

Kagome stood, stretching her legs as she strode to the restricted room to return the useless book and to look at another. Mrs. Yume had made a list of the titles Arata had read, and Kagome was slowly making her way through them. The next one was a scroll, and Kagome would have to handle it with gloves and soft-tipped tweezers. It amazed her again that Mrs. Yume was allowing her to do this for something as ridiculous as –what she thought – was a crush.

 

The restricted room was a small, square room with warm yellow lamps hooked in the corners and a sturdy wooden table in the center. One side was shelves for the books with the opposite side being small drawers for the scrolls. Kagome returned the book to its spot on the shelves before opening one of the drawers to get the scroll. She unrolled it on the table, nearly quailing as she was faced with archaic symbols and pictures.

 

Taking a resilient breath, Kagome unrolled it completely, to be faced with this: a quickly painted image of a miko, face smudged with age, bow and arrow knocked and ready to shoot an enraged youkai with small ears perched atop his head. Kagome forced her hands to relax, but the faded image seared her retina with horrible clarity.

 

_I will not jump to conclusions._

Kagome waged battle with the archaic phrases and characters, reading through them to try to get the story. It was about a half-demon – _Inuyasha,_ her mind whimpered – who had followed a miko across the lands as she battled Japan free from the Youkai reign. At the end, he was the only one left, and so to ensure youkai would never return or breed, she had killed him too, though it had broken her heart to do so.

 

After that Kagome calmly put the scroll away, dusted the room and returned to the front desk. She did not look at the list again.

 

O

_Taigi said:_

_A firefly flitted by:_

_“Look!” I almost said_

_But I was alone._

O

 

That night Kagome tossed and turned, kicking her blankets off the bed until she finally gave up on the faint dream of sleep to peer out her window at the moon-swept courtyard. Even with the warm days, the glass was cool, and her breath left brief clouds of mist on it before disappearing just as quickly. She let her forehead press against it as her mind trickled through memories like a timid stream.

 

She tried to force herself to see a red haori reflected in the branches of the Goshinboku; proud, stout, warm and distant. There was only a fresh breeze as the branches waved mournfully at her.

 

Like the God tree whispered to her: _He is missed, little miko._

Kagome’s numb fingers curled into white knuckled fists as she spent the rest of the night staring down the tree, pleading for it to speak to her.

 

It did not; swaying mutely in the nighttime wind.

 

O

 

Her restless night caught up with her in the early afternoon when Arata appeared at the top of the shrine steps like a man going into battle. His chin was up, his shoulders stiff and his back so straight a pole could have replaced his spine and no one would know the difference.

 

Kagome smiled faintly at him from where she was exiting the store room. She had been organizing it for Grandpa; he wasn’t quite able to keep up with it like he used to. She slid the wooden door shut behind her.

 

“Give me a moment to clean up,” she said before escaping to the house. In the entryway, her shoulders slumped as she trod to the bathroom, where she washed her hands and face. It didn’t do much, as she peered at herself in the mirror – seeing a dirty, wan girl. To delay the inevitable, Kagome pulled her hair down to run her fingers through it, only to knot it at the base of her neck in a messy bun.

 

_I’m being childish,_ she scolded herself. _I need to learn._

When Kagome returned she found Arata at the base of the Goshinboku, peering up at the branches impassively. He was aware of her, she could tell in the way his body tensed as she approached him. There seemed to be a shield around him today, as though if she came too close he would fling her across the yard and sprint away. It was disconcerting, and Kagome couldn’t help but feel more on edge than she usually did in his presence.

 

“So,” Kagome hedged, awkwardly curling her hands in her loose cargo pockets, “where should we do this?”

 

He tore his dark eyes away from the tree to slowly survey the shrine yard. The rundown well-house and shack, her family’s cheery house, the clean-swept stones. He moved a few feet into a spot speckled with sunlight that filtered through the Goshinboku’s thick shadow.

 

“Here will do,” he murmured, summoning her with a jerky flick of his hand. Kagome didn’t pay much heed, though, because she couldn’t help but see his face in the speckled light, the hinting glow of green from the leaves seemed somehow right against his skin, as though all along he was an odd puzzle piece that she finally found a spot for. But… the puzzle still didn’t make sense.

 

“Do not dally, girl!” he snapped, jerking Kagome out of her reverie. She scuttled to stand next to him, eyes still focused on his stern face.

 

“Okay, so what now?”

 

His dark gaze caressed her face, as though searching for something, before turning away.

 

“Sit,” he ordered, doing so himself. Kagome watched as he settled, legs folded beneath him in the position of Seiza. He peered up at her expectantly, Kagome moved to imitate his position, but he interrupted her.

 

“Considering your disposition, _you_ will sit with your legs crossed, in the Burmese position.”

 

“Wow,” Kagome replied testily, “your confidence is inspiring.”

 

He ignored her sarcasm. “It is the easiest position.”

 

Kagome felt like grumbling, but she was too grateful at not having to sit Seiza that she let the small grudge go quickly. She was fairly used to Arata being rude anyway. His odd behavior from earlier made her wonder if he was much more aware of her than he let on.

 

Kagome shuttled her thoughts to the side as she turned to look at the man expectantly.

 

He folded his hands, one on top of the other, flat, with his thumbs pressed together lightly. He waited for her to comply silently; she copied his movements.

 

“Close your eyes,” he said, and Kagome did so, listening intently to the soft murmur of his voice. “Count each breath until ten; then start over. Do not think of anything else. Just breathe.”

 

A flirty breeze tickled Kagome’s neck, and she tried to suppress a cheerful smile. Quickly, she tried to put the thought out of her mind and count.

 

_One, two, three…_

She could feel his presence beside her, an itch; a sensitivity that traveled up her side to prickle uncomfortably.

 

_Breathe! One, two…_

She wondered what his face looked like when he meditated. She could imagine it: cheeks hollow, lips stern, brow not furrowed, but close enough. Kagome opened her eyes to peek.

 

_Oh, hell._

His eyes were open, narrowed on her suspiciously. Kagome flinched, blushed and snapped her eyes shut as though nothing had happened. He had seen her. Had he been staring at her? What _was_ that?

 

Kagome fidgeted. The stones were not easy on her rear, and she promised herself next time that she would bring a pillow for this. How could Arata sit Seiza on stone like this? Kagome had to resist the urge to open her eyes again. She _hated_ meditating.

 

Her only warning was a soft huff of irritation before a warm hand grasped both of hers. Her eyes popped open to stare bemusedly at the man beside her.

 

“ _Still yourself,”_ he growled; which only widened Kagome’s eyes more. He was close, so close she could nearly feel the warm puff of his breath on her cheek.

 

_Breathe._

The light speckled playful over his brow and cheeks, making him more spirit than demon. He seemed utterly untouchable, except for the searing of his hand pressed against hers. _So close._ She wanted to rip her hands from his, so she could reach for his cheek, to feel if he was real. She wanted to run her fingers through his dark hair. She wanted to touch him until she discovered him from the inside out, so she could know why the reflection of the Goshinboku on his pale skin seemed so _right._

And he stared and stared, like a man faced with an abyss and the fear it brought forth.

 

His eyes dropped to her lips.

 

And then he tore his hands away, his eyes away; he stood up so quick she could barely see the motion. The bemused stare was gone from his eyes to be replaced with a horrifying expression of loathing, until his shields slammed down, leaving his face impassive once again.

 

He said nothing to her, and her mind was blank with shock.

 

_What just happened?_

Before she could collect herself, he turned and strode from the shrine, gone quicker than summer rain. Kagome blinked, turning her gaze to her hands that stretched and clenched as she tried to ignore the way her skin tingled where he had touched her.

 

O

 

Arata didn’t return until the following week, despite his threat to force-teach her how to meditate. Kagome spent the time alternating between guilty and confused. From dusk to dawn she had taken to clutching Inuyasha’s subjugation beads in her sleep, rubbing the smooth stone against her cheek and fingers, as though Inuyasha’s spirit would touch her back through them.

 

His spirit remained awfully absent, though, and Kagome was left with a hollow feeling every morning when she hitched them to her bedpost. It seemed that every time she put the necklace away a little piece of Inuyasha – the pieces nestled in her heart – would slip away. She kept reaching, but he kept sprinting further and further out of sight. She knew, one night, she would be alone with not even her memories to keep her company.

 

By the time Arata returned her control was on a razor edge and she felt like the smallest of breezes would knock lose her desperately clutched temper.

 

Mrs. Higurashi was home this time, and Kagome was starting to help her mother prepare dinner when there was a soft knock at the front door.

 

Mrs. Higurashi continued slicing a radish. “Kagome, do you mind?”

 

“Sure, Mama.”

 

Sota wouldn’t be home for another half an hour, and grandpa was visiting a friend, so Kagome was curious who it could be. The curiosity dissipated when she opened the door to find Arata standing stiffly on the other side. His suit was immaculate, his hair tidy but somehow Kagome could tell he was ruffled, discomfited almost.

 

“We’re preparing dinner right now,” Kagome said brusquely, unsure herself of how to act after whatever had taken place last week.

 

She desperately wanted to ask him, but then she would have to admit certain secrets to herself that she wasn’t quite ready to face. Some questions just didn’t need to be answered.

 

Kagome leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms and eyeing the youkai steadily. His eyes flickered for a mere moment, but Kagome had no idea what that meant.

 

“We need to resume your lessons,” he said, his voice low.

 

Kagome frowned. “You can’t just show up any time of the day and expect me to drop everything. I still have a _life._ ”

 

“I see.”

 

Kagome rolled her eyes and huffed. “We can have a lesson after dinner, sound good?”

 

“That is… agreeable.” He almost seemed relieved; a small reprieve from teaching the crazy priestess girl.

 

She was going to regret this, but…. “What do you plan on doing until then?”

 

A small twitch of the shoulders that she assumed was supposed to be a shrug.

 

“Well,” Kagome continued, speaking tentatively, “you can stay for dinner if you want, that way we can start right when we’re done eating.”

 

Tension that had trickled away from his shoulders during their short conversation returned with a vengeance. He was so brittle Kagome was afraid that if he smacked him hard enough he would shatter into a million pieces.

 

“I would not wish to impose,” he said, though he watched her intently.

 

“I insist,” Kagome said. “Mama would kill me if I just left you to wander while we eat.”

 

He seemed to deliberate, and Kagome was sure he would refuse, but Kagome stepped out of the doorway to let him through.

 

“Come in,” she ordered.

 

There was a long, terribly uncertain moment before Arata took a step into the entryway. Kagome shut the door behind him while he removed his shoes. She looked down at his feet.

 

“I don’t think we have any slippers that would fit…” she mused.

 

“I will endure.”

 

“Sorry,” Kagome said. “I’ll get you settled in at the table. _Mama!”_

Arata blinked at her shout, but placidly ignored her rudeness. Kagome flashed him a quick smile, leading him to the low, traditional table before going to the kitchen, which was only a few feet away.

 

Mrs. Higurashi did not look up from the chopping board, “Who was at the door, dear?”

 

“It’s my friend,” Kagome said, feeling decidedly more uncomfortable with the prospect of Arata dining with her and her family. “He’s going to stay for dinner tonight, if that’s alright, Mama.”

 

Mrs. Higurashi put down her knife, blinking in bemusement at her daughter. “Well, of course, Kagome. Why didn’t you say anything earlier? I should have greeted him.”

 

“Um, it was kind of a last minute thing.”

 

“That’s no excuse,” Mrs. Higurashi chided, leaving her cutting to prepare a tray of cold oolong tea.

 

When they entered the dining room, Arata stood from his spot on the floor. Kagome noticed that he sat on his folded knees, and she couldn’t help but think he looked more like a warlord preparing to negotiate with an enemy instead of a man about to join a family for dinner.

 

“Hello,” Mrs. Higurashi greeted kindly, bowing slightly after setting the tray down. Arata inclined his head in greeting as well. “My daughter needs to improve her manners,” she continued, shooting Kagome a scolding glance, to which Kagome rolled her eyes, “she didn’t tell me your name.”

 

“Fujioka Arata,” he stated eloquently.

 

“Then, Mr. Fujioka, I hope you enjoy curry.”

 

He did not give much of a response other than, “I look forward to it, Mrs. Higurashi.”

 

Mrs. Higurashi turned to Kagome. “I don’t need any more help in the kitchen, Kagome, stay and keep your friend company. Make sure to introduce him to Sota and grandpa when they get home.”

 

“Yes, Mama,” Kagome said dutifully.

 

Mrs. Higurashi left, and Kagome slid to the floor in a cross-legged slouch. Arata sat much more gracefully, back straight. With little ceremony, Kagome poured both him and herself tea, passing his across the table to sit in front him. She rested her chin on her hand, propping her elbow on the table.

 

Looking at him now, he seemed jarringly off in her mother’s house. Something about him was sharp, dangerous’ it didn’t mix with the warm coziness of Kagome’s familial home. They sat in silence for some time, him gazing at some distant thing only he could see, and Kagome tapping her fingers rhythmically against the worn wood.

 

The silence was shattered soon by the front door clattering and a shouted greeting by her younger brother. Grandpa’s voice could also be heard under the entryway din. Kagome didn’t bother to stand, knowing they would enter soon. The enticing spice of curry wafted through the house, hinting to the household that dinner would be ready soon.

 

Sota burst into the room, stopping suddenly and rocking on his toes as he spotted the strange, stoic man sitting at the table. “Oh, uh, hello.”

 

Kagome snorted and introduced them; much less formal than the introduction between Arata and her mother.

 

“Oh, well, cool,” Sota said after the introduction. Finding the man seemingly normal, Sota lost interest rather quickly, trotting to the kitchen to help mother bring out dinner once it was done. Grandpa followed behind, slow and suspicious when he spotted Arata.

 

“You _human?”_

Was his first question, as he glowered comically at the dark man.

 

“Jeez, grandpa!” Kagome complained. “Give it a rest!”

 

She didn’t even bother introducing them. Grandpa wouldn’t listen anyway.

 

Dinner was served quickly after, and Kagome was surprised at how well her family and Arata adjusted to each other. The youkai was taciturn throughout the meal, but he answered questions with a politeness that belayed his usual brusque attitude he had with Kagome. Her family didn’t seem to mind. Maybe they could adjust to anything after Inuyasha’s brash temper.

 

The razor edge was back, and she was teetering on it. Why did they accept him so easily?

 

_What about Inuyasha?_

What about Inuyasha? There was no more space at the small table. Every spot was taken, and there was no room if Inuyasha were to return, like Arata had usurped _his_ spot and Kagome had _invited_ him to do it. Irrationally, she was angry at her family for allowing this to happen, and being so happy for it too.

 

She continued feeling this way until the meal was over and Mrs. Higurashi enlisted Sota’s help with the dishes. Arata stood to thank them, much to her mother’s pleasure. Kagome barely noticed, staring at the wall, loathing crawling it way up her throat.

 

“Come,” Arata gestured, stepping from the dining area to the entryway, slipping his shoes on. Kagome wanted to resist, but she refused to go back on her word. That truly would be childish.

 

She followed him. Dusk had fallen, and the shrine was illuminated only by the dim glow of lanterns strategically placed around the edges. A thick smog cover blocked the moon, and Kagome was grateful. She did not want to see the Goshinboku’s branches lit up with the moon’s skeletal grace.

 

Beneath the tree, he waited for her to settle before sinking to the ground himself; much further away than before, nearly a meter and out of arm’s length.

 

“Remember what I told you. Breathe, and count.”

 

Kagome tried, she really did, but her mind could not help but stray. She felt weighed down by the curry in her belly, and mosquitos buzzed by her ears.

 

_“Concentrate.”_

At his snapped command, Kagome felt the razor edge she had been walking on bite into her, a fresh wound against her struggling hearth. She teetered; she tipped; she fell.

 

“ _No.”_ she said, voice slow and low. “I am _tired_ of this. I am tired of e _verything._ I can’t do this anymore.”

 

Her eyes opened and he was looking at her, and felt a spark of rage ignite in her chest. How _dare_ he judge her? How _dare_ he infiltrate her life? How _dare_ he treat her like an inconvenience?

 

“Foolish girl,” he hissed, “are you so selfish to not see beyond the end of your own nose? Do you care so little for innocents? Are content to kill them so you can mope over a little _crush?”_

The air was sucked from her lungs and she felt the sting of his remarks like a sharp slap. She looked away from him, shame welling through her like a swelling wave. It overcame her rage, washed away her anger, leaving only tender pain.

 

“Go.” she whispered. Please, just… go.”

 

He stood. “If you cannot do something this simple, then you’re not worth my time, much less this life you live.”

 

Once again, he strode away, though this time she knew exactly what happened.

 

O

_Soseki said:_

_Over the wintry_

_Forest, winds howl in rage_

_With no leaves to blow._

O

 

She spent the night outside, ignoring the way her body ached. She leaned her back against the God Tree, taking solace in the cool wood. The lamps dimmed to nothing near midnight, and Kagome was left in darkness so deep she could barely see her hand in front of her face.

 

_I am… an idiot._

The next day, despite being sore and tired, despite feeling like her soul was bleeding and could handle no more, Kagome went to find Arata. She only vaguely remembered where he lived, but find it she did. The traditional gates were simple and intimidating. Kagome pressed the button at the edge of the stone wall.

 

She waited as patiently as possible; it seemed an eternity before he appeared, not wearing his usual suit, but a plain yukata. Kagome felt something leap up her throat; shock, maybe? Again, something jarred, something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t place what. Maybe seeing such a man like Arata wear something so traditional, though she shouldn’t be surprised considering where he lived.

 

He did not open the gate. He just stood and stared, and Kagome flushed, bit her lip and bowed as low as she could.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wrong. Please teach me.”

 

O

 

She was sure he took pleasure in her shame, because he left her bowing for at least a minute.

 

“Straighten yourself,” he said, voice so soft she barely heard him. She stood, watching as he unlatched the gate and slid it just open enough to let her in. Kagome only felt a moment of trepidation before she slipped past him, so close that her shoulders brushed his fingers where they grasped the gate. She waited as he latched the gate and beckoned her to follow him.

 

Now that she had a moment to study it, she reveled in the small oasis of peace that was his Tokyo home. The city was so full of towering skyscrapers and narrow streets that it was rare to find a place that exuded such an honest aura of solitude. It felt like an escape, and perhaps it was.

 

They meandered through a small, traditional Japanese garden until they found a tiny wooden bench. He sat and gestured for her to follow. The bench was small enough that when she sat her side was pressed against his, and she couldn’t help but be hyperaware of his form.

 

She focused on the pond in front of them, the brief glimpses of bright koi – a flash of gold, silver and a deep purple.

 

“We will try something different,” he finally said, and Kagome wasn’t sure if she was forgiven or not, but his voice seemed more gentle than it had ever been. “Don’t focus on your breathing. Find something you can focus on, and focus only on that. We will sit here for this exercise.”

 

Kagome nodded silently and closed her eyes. She clasped her hands in her lap and tried to ignore how sore her rear was. She tried to focus on the trickle of the stream that filtered into the pond, but quickly her mind strayed. It strayed just as quickly from the soft whisper of the breeze through her loose hair. She tried to quell her frustration; she didn’t want Arata to regret inviting her into his home.

 

He smelled of laundry detergent. He was warm. She could feel the near miniscule shift of his shoulder and bicep as he breathed. Her focus went deeper.

 

His aura curled softly; warm, lazy patterns that Kagome easily latched onto. She left the warmth of his aura flow into hers, feeling her own power redirect itself into the same wavy flow as his.

 

She would have been very proud if she hadn’t fallen asleep soon after.

 

But not for too long. She woke to her name being softly murmured.

 

“Kagome. _Kagome.”_

Kagome opened her eyes blearily, and cursed herself for succumbing to her fatigue.

 

She blinked up at Arata, who peered down at her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, “I’ll do better this time.”

 

“Do not concern yourself,” he said after a long moment. “You did well.”

 

Kagome’s eyebrows shot up incredulously. His lips twitched.

 

_Is he laughing at me?_

“I felt your aura,” he finally said. “You found focus; you succeeded, if only for a few minutes.”

 

She had felt… something, hadn’t she? A faint flush of pleasure filled her cheeks and Kagome felt a smile stretch her lips. It felt odd, like a muscle she hadn’t used in a long time. This struck her as funny, so Kagome laughed. It tumbled out of her, rusty and unused and beautiful, like spring’s blossoms.

 

She covered her mouth and laughed some more, hunching over to hide her face, because she felt such a rush of joy for something as silly as a compliment from a stoic man. She snorted, finally containing herself.

 

“Sorry,” Kagome said, glancing up at him with curled lips and blushing cheeks, “I’m just tired, I guess.”

 

His lips weren’t twitching anymore, but he was staring at her intently, his eyes dark and hungry. Kagome’s breath caught in her throat.

 

As though it had been caught in slow motion his hand came up to gently grasp a strand of her hair that lay limply on her breast. He stared at his hand as though it wasn’t a part of him. The rebellious hand lifted the strand, caressing it with his thumb. Kagome’s heart pounded so hard in her chest she thought it might jump right out.

 

And then he tugged sharply.

 

“ _Ow!_ What the heck?” Kagome snapped, ripping herself away from him. She rubbed her head tenderly and glared at him.

 

He gazed away like nothing had happened.

 

“Hm,” he said, “no daydreaming. You’re tired, so I think it is time for you to return home.”

 

“Um,” Kagome stuttered, completely left behind by the total turn-around. “Okay.”

 

He stood up smoothly, grabbed her elbow and levered her up beside him, then continued to steer her towards the exit. Kagome stumbled along, bewildered to the point of muteness.

 

_What? What? What?_

He released her to unlatch the gate and slide it open, and then gently pushed her through. Kagome stepped through without thinking, and nearly had to jump out of the way as he snapped it shut behind her.

 

“Good bye,” he said, and stalked away.

 

Kagome gaped at his retreating figure. His dark hair fluttered in the breeze, and his yukata emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow hips, but Kagome barely noticed, too busy wondering what could possibly be going through his bizarre mind.

 

_What just happened?_

O

Kagome spent the rest of the week in such a state of confusion that even Mrs. Yume had asked her what was wrong.

 

“You seem a little distracted,” Mrs. Yume stated delicately, after Kagome had dropped her third book. “Is anything wrong, Kagome?”

 

Kagome smiled ruefully and shook her head. “I’m alright, Mrs. Yume. It’s just the weather – it’s so beautiful I want to be outside all the time.”

 

Mrs. Yume smiled brilliantly. “Oh, I definitely understand. My husband and I picnicked in Yayogi Park Sunday and watched the performers. They are so clever!”

 

Kagome laughed and listened, entertained by Mrs. Yume’s warm charm.

 

Kagome returned home feeling focused, only to find Arata lounging beneath the Goshinboku with closed eyes. They peeked open as she passed, though he made no move to acknowledge her. Kagome snubbed him to go change inside. The way he sat, with one arm over an upraised knee…

 

“Kagome?”

 

Kagome slipped her shoes off before padding into the kitchen. “Yes, Mama?”

 

Mrs. Higurashi was only leaning against the counter and peering out the window. “Did you speak to Mr. Fujioka?”

 

Kagome huffed. “ _No.”_

Mrs. Higurashi lifted a maternal brow.

 

Kagome protested. “I was planning on going back out after I changed, Mama.”

 

“Well, you better go,” her mother said, dismissing Kagome as she turned to peer out the window again.

 

Kagome’s brow furrowed. “ _Why?”_ she asked warily.

 

Mrs. Higurashi huffed, and Kagome huffed back.

 

“Cheeky girl,” Mrs. Higurashi said fondly, before turned solemn. “He reminds me of Inuyasha a bit.”

 

Kagome couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice. “ _How?”_

 

“He’s _lonely_ , Kagome.”

 

Kagome followed her mother’s gaze to settle on the lone man that lounged in their courtyard. Not even Kagome could deny that, at best, he was stand-off-ish.

 

As usual, her mother was too perceptive.

 

“I’ll go out there in a minute,” Kagome conceded. She quickly changed out of her business skirt and jacket and into a loose, floral dress. It would feel nice with the hint-of-summer temperature. And it was cute.

 

Kagome left the house only a few minutes later to stride over to the lazing youkai. His pose once again struck something in her, but she ignored the twinge.

 

“Don’t you have a life?” she joked, flopping down to lean against the tree beside him, her legs stretched catty-corner to his. He glanced at her, lips twitching, before closing his eyes again. He flicked a finger at her. “Practice, miko.”

 

“It’s not fair,” grumbled Kagome, “if you’re just going to _nap.”_

She thought she heard him snort, but when she glanced at him he was perfectly composed.

 

She closed her eyes and this time it was much easier to fall into the familiar rhythm of his youki. She wasn’t sure how long she synched to him, but it wasn’t more than a few minutes before distractions wove their way in, like what did Arata do for a living? And what kind of youkai was he?

 

“Stop.”

 

Kagome blinked at Arata.

 

“You lost focus. That is enough for today.”

 

Kagome shrugged and leaned against the tree, relaxing against the bark, even though it pricked sharply at her back.

 

“I suggest you practice a little each day. It won’t be much longer before you are accomplished.”

 

Kagome smiled with pride, hiding her discontent.

 

_Can I do this without him?_

O

 

As it was, she could. Barely, and it only lasted for a minute at most before distraction broke through. Kagome worked on remembering the feel of him until her own patterns imitated his, but the waves were too jerky and sharp, like sluggish lightening instead of the steady waves he exuded. It was frustrating, tiring work, and Kagome couldn’t wait until he appeared again to help her practice. With him, it almost felt enjoyable.

 

O

 

The next day at work Kagome accidentally sliced her hand on a paper cutter. It certainly wasn’t deadly, or even deep enough to resort to a hospitable trip, but Kagome felt a flash of panic as the wound sealed before her eyes leaving only a smear of rusty, dried blood.

 

She felt her soul jolt and struggle, and Kagome quickly shut her eyes and took deep, calming breaths. Desperately, she recalled Arata’s youki, forcing her purity to respond likewise. It fought like a feral animal, but submitted soon enough, curling in sullen circles around her.

 

Kagome clenched her hand to her chest and tried not sob with relief.

 

“Kagome? Everything alright?”

 

Kagome straightened to smile reassuringly at Mrs. Yume, who peered at her from the front desk.

 

“I’m fine, Mrs. Yume, thank you. I was just daydreaming.”

 

O

 

Kagome felt warmth and pride flush through her when he appeared a few days later, impeccably dressed and impassive. He quirked an eyebrow at her pleasure, and strode by her to settle beneath the tree. The day was sticky and warm; even in her shorts and t-shirt Kagome felt stifled. Yet, Arata appeared completely unruffled despite his stiff suit.

 

He leaned against the tree, arm resting limply on his upraised knee, and the niggling sensation dug into her chest. Kagome narrowed her yes, because something seemed so off with the image, but she couldn’t place what. He looked too small, almost.

 

Kagome settled beside him, but the odd feeling dug deeper, burrowing into her mind with the intensity of a drill. To block it, she focused with ferocity on Arata’s youki. It floated lazily, and the drilling subsided, her purity imitating his relaxed patterns.

 

After weeks of meditating through him, Kagome was keenly aware of his energy, so she was surprised when a small hiccup popped out at her. It was so minute she never would have caught it if she weren’t so attuned. She focused; her interest a microscope on that one spot. Waiting patiently, she felt it again, a small jolt of power that went against the natural flow of his youki.

 

Kagome eyes popped open so she could glance at Arata questioningly.

 

But his expression: appraising, tentative, hesitant.

 

The _‘something off’_ sensation rushed back.

 

“What is that?” Kagome asked; he would know what she referenced.

 

His eyes slid away to study the well house. “It is none of your concern.”

 

_It is. Yes. It is._

“Please,” Kagome pleaded.

 

“No.”

 

Kagome stood. Her hands shook, because she _had to know._

 

She shot a little of her purity out to prod the spot, and he _rippled._

_And she saw._

He was looking at her, full in the face. His coloring was stable, dark and solemn. But she had _seen._

_His eyes are gold._

Kagome tried to take a deep breath, but it hitched and she choked.

 

_“Show me.”_ She whispered. “You _have_ to show me.”

 

Gracefully, he stood. A breeze flirted with the dark strands of his hair.

 

“Kagome,” and only she would be able to hear the tiny hint of pleading; the desperate need for her to understand.

 

“ _Show_ me!”

 

He did.

 

The darkness of his features rippled away, and Kagome was faced with golden eyes, long silver hair and delicate markings.

 

_“Sesshomaru,”_ she breathed, and her body buckled with shock. He strode forward to grasp her biceps, keeping her on her feet. Her heart ruptured with shock and hurt, bleeding away the small bit of comfort _Arata_ had spun. She ripped herself from his hold, taking a few steps back and wrapping her arms around her torso to desperately hug herself.

 

“Kagome,” he repeated, her name unnatural on his tongue, on his lips.

 

_I have no idea who this man is._

Kagome stumbled around and strode from the courtyard, leaving Sesshomaru staring at her back.

 

O

 

Kagome was grateful for the bustle of the train station. People were too busy to notice the girl hiding behind her bangs, cheeks flushed with tears.

 

O

 

She went to the bar, the one where she met him. She didn’t know why. Maybe because it was really the only bar she knew. Her tears had dried and she was left empty as a broken shell – confused and hollow. The bar seemed dirtier and darker now that Kagome was sober. Somehow, it had transformed to a slightly more glamorous memory, despite the disaster that followed. Perhaps her growing warmth in Arata’s presence had altered the shame of the shame of it into something better.

 

Kagome approached the bar, avoiding the many sticky spots to patiently wait for the bartender. He appeared briskly enough, and Kagome ordered a beer and an expensive shot of _habusake._ The shot burned through her chest; Kagome grimacing to keep the alcohol from gurgling back up her throat.

 

She took her beer and slumped in one of the cramped tables, rubbing the prickly finish with her index finger. She took a sip of her beer to wash the bitter taste of sake from her mouth, then left it untouched.

 

She wasn’t surprised when the entranced opened, blinding her with a thick ray of sunlight and his dark form. His mask was back in place, though he was paler, his lips tense. He relaxed slightly when he saw her, though the stiffness didn’t leave his posture. The entrance shut behind him, returning the room to gloom.

 

He sat across from her, studying her like she was a feral cat, unsure whether she would take a treat from his hand or scratch until he bled.

 

She patiently waited for the rage to return, but it didn’t. There was just one screaming question: _Why?_

It was his turn to speak, she thought. She was tired of being the one who always had to prod and pry. If he wanted understanding, he would have to earn it.

 

_Try, Sesshomaru._

His gaze left hers, discomfort flooding the black eyes as he looked steadily over her shoulder.

 

“I did not know it was you, that night, not until….” He nodded his head, and she knew he referenced her whimper for Inuyasha. “I did not lie,” he continued, “other than to keep my identity a secret. I doubted you would appreciate….”

 

He struggled.

 

So she gave a little slack. _“Why_ would you thinking I wouldn’t appreciate seeing an ally from the past? I have been _alone_ with no idea what happened for _months._ How could you even think I wouldn’t appreciate you?”

 

His jaw clenched. “It was in consideration of our first meeting.”

 

Kagome’s tongue sealed to the top of her mouth. She couldn’t quite argue with that.

 

“You did need to learn,” he said, “though I am not the most proficient of teachers.”

 

“Do you know what’s happened to me?” she asked, the question a heavy whisper that floated between them like an autumn leaf.

 

“I do not. You aren’t a god. You aren’t youkai. Yet, you are no longer quite human.” His eyes met hers. “There is no historical precedent.”

 

Disappointment flooded her, because maybe she thought he had the answer the entire time, he was just keeping it from her. He had done the research. He was teaching her. He must _know._

But he didn’t.

 

And maybe Sesshomaru wasn’t quite as infallible – as himself or as Arata – as she thought he was. He had blundered, and he hadn’t known what to do, just as confused as her. Even now, as she watched his face, he was completely out of his element. The warrior replaced with a man who didn’t fit in with the generation and was forced to interact in a way he didn’t appreciate or understand.

 

Now that she knew what he was supposed to look like, his Arata façade looked extraordinarily wrong, like an ill-fitting suit.

 

“I want to see you,” Kagome told him. “The real you.”

 

He glanced at her sharply, searchingly, but jerking his head in a nod. He pulled a crumpled thousand yen note from his pocket and left it on the table, waiting for her to follow as they exited the bar.

 

“I did not drive,” he said, steering her towards the nearest train station. His home was not far, though, and Kagome endured the train ride silently. She couldn’t help staring at his face and enjoying the way their shoulders bumped every time the train jerked.

 

He ushered her through her gate; passively dignified – a contrast to the way he had nearly forced her exit on her last visit. They padded to the porch, where they both removed their shoes and stepped up. His index finger pressed against her elbow, ensuring she was steady before he turned away to slide open a screen. Tatami mats creaked beneath their feet, and nervousness sparked in Kagome’s chest.

 

He stopped in that room, the thin walls blazing with the orange glow of the setting sun. His back was to her, but he turned to face her, his visage rippling as it did.

 

By the time his chest squared with her, Arata was gone and Sesshomaru took his place.

 

Kagome studied him, able to do so now that she wasn’t overwhelmed with shock. His hair was still silky and long, though it jarred painfully with the suit. He was an ethereal being almost, and Kagome’s heart hummed in her chest.

 

She took a step forward, reaching her hands out slowly, hesitantly. She gave him ample time to brush her off, to move out of her reach, but he did not, waiting patiently for her touch. She started with his cheeks, brushing the sharp edge of his cheek, the razor cheek markings and his noble brow. His golden eyes seared into her, but they seemed so tender, so soft. They were not Sesshomaru’s eyes, not as she remembered them. But he wasn’t as she remembered him either. Thin lines bracketed his mouth, and the hollow of his cheeks were more pronounced. He had aged.

 

Emboldened, Kagome brought her fingers to brush the pointed shell of his ears, the silver tips of his bangs and the pulse in his neck, a steady thrum.

 

His hand caught her wrist. Slowly, like treacle, he brought his nose down to silently inhale.

 

His gaze flicked up to meet hers and Kagome felt her cheeks flush.

 

“Kagome,” he murmured, “do not tempt me.”

 

She should have taken a step back then. She should have let separation be her answer, to force themselves apart with the thick air in the sun-lit room. She didn’t know what this was, what she was doing or whether it was right. She briefly thought about Inuyasha, and mourning clenched her heart, but it was so much lighter now, like the thorns had been trimmed from the rose and now she was left with the faint, nostalgic smell of sweet petals.

 

Kagome took a step forward and brought her free hand up to rest lightly on his shoulder. His grip tightened, and _something_ flashed across his face. Need, regret, yearning, resistance.

 

She stood on her toes and he brought his face down and their lips sealed the whisper of a promise.

 

_We’re both here. We’re both alone._

_Please, don’t leave me alone._

It was gentle and sweet and sad, like the tears of five hundred years coated their lips, and they shared that taste together. His hand released her wrist to settle on her waist; her arms wrapped around his neck, burrowing through his soft tresses.

 

As his lips left hers to pepper her cheeks and neck with blossoming kisses, Kagome couldn’t help but think she had lost her heart in the past, and Sesshomaru had brought it back to her.

 

They made love on the floor, clothes tossed haphazardly to the side, silent as they hesitantly caressed each other. Their movements were slow, like warm honey and Kagome found her body reacted sweetly when uninhibited by alcohol. There was none of the feral, desperate need this time; only stroking reassurances and unspoken answers.

 

_Here?_

_Yes, there._

_May I?_

_Please, do._

He brought her to climax with nimble fingers and Kagome’s body quested and surged with what she though may be spring. She returned the favor, tentative fingers brushing his chest, his abdomen and then lower until she grasped him with questioning approval.

 

_I never want this to end,_ she thought as she watched his eyes flutter shut as he grimaced with pleasure. He took her hands away before he could finish, rolling her beneath him, her knees embracing his narrow hips. His lips caressed hers as he entered her tenderly; there was no pain or fear now, just the lightening need for more and the loving warmth as his lips whispered over hers.

 

Kagome didn’t notice the way the mats chafed her back, or how the fiery glow of the sunlight faded to a cobwebby darkness. She was too preoccupied with the feeling of Sesshomaru inside of her, covering her, touching her. A giggle burst from her throat when his hair tangled with her fingers, and he lightly nipped her in playful rebuke.

 

Soon, the gentle thrum was replaced by an unsteady, desperate pace that caused Kagome to sigh breathy whimpers. Sesshomaru was silent, hiding his face in her neck, but his hands gentled over her skin a little quicker, just a little rougher – enough to let her know he was toeing the line. Kagome clung with fingers digging into his skin until he came.

 

He rolled to her side after, cradling her body against him as he nosed the crown of her head. Kagome clung tightly, until he gently disengaged her fingers to retrieve a futon and linen from a nearby closet. Darkness coated the room, but wan moonlight reflected enough light through the shoji that Kagome could see Sesshomaru’s lean form as he prepared the bedding. She helped as much as she could, considering she was half blind, but mostly tripped and got in the way.

 

Sesshomaru snorted, firmly sitting her on the side until he finished and dragged her into the bed with him. Electricity still sparked in her body, though, so Kagome let her hands roam until she found his body straining with desire once again.

 

She pushed him back when he tried to move.

 

“I want to, this time,” she whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to his dry lips.

 

She climbed on top of him, lowering herself on his manhood, slick and ready and warm. She rode her throne clumsily, but he seemed appreciative all the same. His hands clenched her hips and he couldn’t help his own hips as they replied to her thrusts. It was desperate and needy and Kagome felt power – not the purity kind, something primal – rushing through her bone and muscle. Her heart sung with passion and she pressed her lips to the smooth part of his chest where his heart fluttered before she came undone. He quickly followed, and in the watery darkness they wrapped they’re limbs in complex knots, skin sweaty and heated.

 

Kagome quickly drifted asleep, fists full of his hair. She was sure, this time, that he caressed her own tresses, soft and reassuring.

 

O

 

Kagome woke alone, the room gray and cold. She uncurled her naked body from the blankets, finding an extra sheet had been added to the layers of linen. She noticed the shoji door cracked, letting the watery morning light filter into the room. Kagome dressed carefully before padding out of the room.

 

Sesshomaru was not far, only a few meters down the porch sitting with legs crossed as he gazed at the garden. Hesitant, Kagome settled next to him, letting the side of her body press against his as her legs trailed to the side. He did not seem to mind, so the tenseness slipped from her body with a relieved sigh and she sank deeper into his side.

 

The sun was not visible yet, only the foggy light that preceded a bright sunrise. The Japanese garden was cloaked in reaching shadows and dewy brush. Fat crows argued loudly in one of the groomed trees.

 

Sesshomaru had yet to look at her but when he spoke it was soft and steady.

 

“I lost my honor on the night of our reunion.”

 

Kagome followed his gaze to the garden, waiting for his thoughts to press forth.

 

He took a minuscule bracing breath.

 

“I did not owe my brother anything, and he asked for nothing in return, until the end.” He turned to survey her impassively. “He wanted me to find you and ensure your safety: a quick duty for someone like me to watch someone like you. A human life is a speck in time.”

 

Kagome’s heart clenched. “Was he…” she stumbled over her question, “Was he happy?”

 

He looked away. “Yes, though there was only one soul he ever wanted; it was too far for him to reach.”

 

Bereavement settled heavy in her chest as she thought of him waiting; waiting for her to come back and she never did. Never would.

 

“I miss him so much,” she admitted brokenly. She and Inuyasha, she was sure, were meant to be together. They shared something that was beyond simple love, a bond that couldn’t be broken through time or death. But even so, five hundred years separated them.

 

“Hn,” Sesshomaru said.

 

They shared a heavy silence before he began again.

 

“I do not believe you will share a human lifespan,” he finally said. “It is often… onerous – living so long.”

 

His hands lay limp on his thighs. Kagome reached out to grasp the one closest to her reassuringly, her fingers brushing the back of his knuckles, light as a kiss.

 

“I’m not alone,” Kagome said simply, then peeked at his proud profile, waiting for a confirmation. His eyes found hers and he nodded, slow and solemn.

 

Someday, in another life, her soul would meet Inuyasha again, Kagome _knew._ Their souls were not separated, merely delayed. Something like time and death were nothing for two people with a bond like theirs.

 

But Sesshomaru, too, she now shared a bond with. His roots grew deep and steady and Kagome couldn’t help but think she was the blossoms on his branches. Maybe they wouldn’t always be together, but they had each other now, and she would always return because if she was going to live as long as he suspected, then he would always be there.

 

Kagome _knew._

O

 

_Shushiki said:_

_Dead my old fine hopes_

_And dry my dreaming but still…_

_Iris, blue each spring._

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
